I heard the bells of Sligo say
The tranquil requiem of day.
I saw the fires of sunset burn
Dim in the great west’s golden urn.
O’er Calvary’s sharp spire afar
Clear flowered one hyacinthine star.
Then mother Night her children hid
Under her purple coverlid.
[p 25]
]II
Well can I recall that eve at Sligo,